The Guardian - 08.08.2019

Section:GDN 12 PaGe:7 Edition Date:190808 Edition:01 Zone: Sent at 7/8/2019 18:28 cYanmaGentaYellowblac

• The Guardian
  Thursday 8 August 2019 7

T

he Ministry of Justice

produced a report last

week, showing that

the Clink Charity had

had a “statistically

signifi cant” impact on

reoff ending rates among prisoners.

The Clink scheme helps prisoners

to run restaurants. They learn to be

chefs, bar tenders, waiters, porters

and front of house. They get City

and Guilds qualifi cations in food

and beverage services, professional

cookery and food hygiene. In the

four prisons running restaurants

• High Down in Surrey, Brixton,
  Cardiff and Styal in Cheshire – there
  has been a signifi cant reduction in
  recidivism, 7% overall (in Brixton,
  reoff ending rates were 11 % for men
  who had worked in the restaurant,
  compared to 32 % overall).
  Reoff ending is mainly a story
  about society – not about prisons, or
  even, especially, about restaurants.
  People talk about reoff ending as if
  it were something innate in, or bred
  out of, a prisoner. But it is really hard
  to get a job with a criminal record.
  The restaurants teach punters a
  huge amount about prisons. I don’t
  think I have ever learn ed more about
  freedom, incarceration, dignity,
  shame, empathy and human beings


• leastways in a lunch context – in a
  single sitting.
  I fi rst went to the Clink in High
  Down, a category B men’s prison ,
  in 2010. The booking process is a
  short but intense questionnaire
  (do you know anyone who is a
  serving prisoner? Do you work for a

In prison, there is

fellowship in food

Zoe Williams

PHOTOGRAPH: JUSTIN TALLIS/GETTY

The convention

is that you never

ask anyone

what they are

in for. Nobody

does. It is quite

equalising

once told me there would always be

long-serving prisoners taking their

own lives, often when the person on

the outside they were staying alive

for had died. What she would not

rest until she had eliminated were

the deaths on the fi rst night, people

killing themselves as soon as they

arrived out of unconscionable dread.

I never properly understood that

until I walked into High Down for an

asparagus mousse.

The restaurant was not prison -

like at all: more like the dining room

of a Mercure hotel, with textured

surfaces in neutral colours, all very

calming. The menu was like an

upmarket cafe attached to a National

Trust property : terrines, homemade

pickles, lots of produce grown on

site (there is also a horticultural

programme ). The presentation was

beautiful to the point of daintiness;

lots of that fussing they do on

Master Chef, where vegetables are

built into neat towers and sauces are

dotted like punctuation. It was the

opposite of a gastropub, basically :

nothing slopped, nothing homey.

There is fellowship in food.

Everyone was extremely cheerful,

and open about their plans for the

future. Launching restaurants, cafes,

taking it further, going full Michelin;

it was understood that the lunchers

would be curious. The convention is

that you never ask anyone in prison

what they are in for. Nobody does.

The chief inspector of prisons would

not. It is quite equalising, to have a

taboo that respects the sensitivities

of the inmate rather than the visitor.

Five years later, I ate in the Clink

in Brixton, another category B

prison beset by the same challenges

of a large remand population,

constantly in fl ux, hard to enrol in

behaviour-management or training

programmes because there is no

time. Reducing the recidivism rates

in this jail is a big deal. The food

was similar, though had caught up

with the times (scallops were huge

in the 00s; artichokes are massive

this decade). The atmosphere was

even livelier, it was a party for

campaigners in the fi eld, but the

main diff erence for me was that

this is my local prison : I pass it

constantly, I know the buses that run

to it , and I never even look up the

road. Prisons do not have a hallowed

aspect : however imposing their

Victorian architecture, they become

invisible, the eye skates past them.

I would be interested in more

than the eff ect on inmates of this

thoughtful scheme: I would like to

know whether it brings to diners

some renewed sense that prisoners

are still citizens, compatriots, that

the state of imprisonment is only

ever temporary and rehabilitation

is a two-way street. And the food is

really good.

Clink restaurants By training up inmates

in cooking and hospitality, the charity is

providing more than a great meal

government agency?). I’m not sure

what the wrong answers are. Mine

were all no, and I got a table.

Imprisonment as a concept is not

complicated ; it is a building, and

you are not allowed out of it. The

simplicity of the idea completely

blinds you (well, blinded me) to its

emotional density. It is possibly the

sharpest edge of authority you could

experience in a modern democracy.

Maybe you would get it if you’d been

in the army, but the sheer enormity

of losing your freedom, and what

that means for your sense of self,

and of the future, is brought home

so vividly by each detail: walking

through the gates, surrendering

your phone, the elaborate unlocking

and re-locking of doors. The late

Kathy Baker, a Samaritans volunteer

who set up the infl uential Listener

scheme of inmate peer mentoring ,

themselves. Store all

soft fresh herbs (except

basil) like a bouquet, washed and

in a glass jar with a little water, well

away from the icy back of the fridge.

Door racks: juices, condiments,

spreads etc – things with the longest

shelf-life.

6) Tips for dealing with odours

A well-sealed glass container is best.

Also, keep an open box of bicarb on

the bottom shelf – or sprinkle some

at the bottom of your veg drawer

and cover it with paper towel.

7) Tips for dealing with fridgemates

(AKA how to word the passive-

aggressive note)

Talk before you stack. Food website

The Kitchn recommends keeping

shared fridges as symmetrical as the

hardware allows, so if there are two of

you, divvy the lot down the middle,

and mak e sure you both know what is

communal (the door?). Abide by the

above rules for your own stuff and

put anything special in an opaque bag

to make it obviously not for common

consumption. But if communication

does break down, take your cue from

the now legendary cheese-slice war

between rowing Australian offi ce

workers, grab a Sharpie and a Post-it –

and then tweet about it.

Defrost the

freezer when

ice is more than

5mm thick

Only put eggs

that have

been bought

refrigerated in

the fridge

Every three

months, clean with

warm water and

washing-up liquid

Don’t keep

open cans

of food – decant

their contents

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